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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524830">Celebrity Plane Crash</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bopscotch/pseuds/bopscotch'>bopscotch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ortega POV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:20:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bopscotch/pseuds/bopscotch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>ortega has some dreams</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>ortega /sidestep sort of kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Celebrity Plane Crash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>idk</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is a plane above the clouds. You’re outside of it, watching the hull, listening to the churn of the jets. You’re outside of it but you know you are its passenger. You feel the lurch in your gut when it shifts, you can taste free champagne on your tongue. It doesn’t surprise you when it starts to stutter. A loose screw somewhere deep inside its belly, black smoke pouring from it like cheap SFX. You watch it fall from the sky. You know you will feel it when it hits the ground. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You’re in the wreckage and you know where you are. Great sheaths of metal with torn edges stick into the sand all around you, the air is choked with char and chemicals. Your leg is wounded but you’ll forget in time. You step out of the whale’s carcass. A plane flies overhead. You’ve seen this movie before. The white beach, the drooping palms. Are you the star again? You write HELP! in the sand with a stick but when you look back up the plane is gone. You’re not scared, this is an old rodeo. You know where you are. There are other bodies in the wreck besides your own, but to list them all would take too long. You can’t see their faces anyways. The next step is to find shelter, or possibly a personal revelation by a waterfall. Or does that come after? A coconut drops from the tree above you with the velocity of a bullet. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You’re on the beach again. By now, you know this is a dream. You try and take control — this is your mind, isn’t it? It should be yours for the taking. Your attempt at flight is little more than a hop that lasts too long, you can’t conjure anything. You feel vague and frustrated, knowing it’s a dream just makes you aware of how blurry everything is. You know where you are, shouldn’t that be enough? Why isn’t it? There are sounds coming from the mess of jungle beyond the sand. It looks so much like a children’s book, all hanging vines and swinging monkeys. You know this is a dream but it feels like it’s gone on forever. You’re so tired and you know that you’re asleep. Can you sleep in the dream? If you’re going to sleep, you will need a bed. Of course. How could you forget? You gather materials. You’re not entirely sure what they are, you can’t seem to look directly at them, but you have them. That’s what matters. You feel like you’re trying to appease some greater logic but you don’t know where it comes from. When you look up, there are stars out. In the dark, you can see eyes peering out from the jungle.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’s the same beach. This is becoming so exhausting. Isn’t there anywhere else? Why doesn’t anyone come to get you? Don’t they know you’re stuck here? Didn't they see your message? You look for it to make sure it’s real. Instead, you find your house. It’s a delicate weave of palm leaves and sticks, there’s a fire outside, still going but dying down, you seem to be making food over it. Inside, there’s a bed and a rug and a chair and a clock and a balloon and the floors are red and the walls are green. You go back outside because you think if you fall asleep here you’ll die. Even in the dream, you don’t want to die. Sometimes you think you do and then you come close and remember. It’s just a question of remembering. Someone behind you puts their arms around you and you sink into the familiarity. It’s your dream, you know who it is. When was the last time anyone held you? You don’t turn around because it’s your dream and if you turn around they won’t be there. They won’t be there because you know they won’t be. It’s a funny little thing. She unclasps her hands and without the link fall off you abruptly. There’s no one in the doorway, but it’s ok. They’ve just stepped out, they’ll be back soon. There’s even more stuff out on the sand now, it multiplies every time you look away, even though you’re sure it’s been there a long time. How long have you been here? When did you find the time to make all these things? You know you made them. They feel like your hands. You sit down in a beach lounger, picking up the book that’s splayed over it, saving your place from last time. The chair doesn’t face the ocean, but that makes sense to you, because it seems like a bad idea not to stare into the jungle, since it stares back. You write a message on a page torn from the book, in the margins, wrapping all the way around the text, then you roll it up into a bottle and toss it over your shoulder. Someone will find you soon. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The beach looks more and more like a suburban estate every time you come here. You’re resigned to being here now. It’s not so bad, really. It’s lonely and it’s cold and you can’t ever escape the feeling of wet sand clinging to your skin, but it’s familiar now. It’s yours. There’s a gazebo and a vegetable garden and a swing set for when you have children. You still get that sinking feeling, the way your body feels in a nightmare, letting you know that things are wrong well before they are. But nothing ever happens here and you know that now. And you were never unsafe because it’s just a dream. The ocean spills out over your backyard, lapping at the tulips you’ve planted. When did you plant them? You’re becoming suspicious that you stay here when you’re awake, silently crafting and digging and building and tilling in the background of your consciousness. Maybe that’s why you’re so tired. You’re always working. You’ll be done soon, right? You still need to explore the jungle. You’ve known it’s what you wanted to do since you got here, but you seem to get distracted every time. It’s starting to annoy you the way your focus slides sideways off the idea every time like oil swirling in a nonstick pan. It’s not your fault. You want to see it, but there’s so much left to do here. Now that you’ve built all this, it needs you. Who would water your plants if you walked away? There are people in the jungle, but who knows if you could find your way back here with them. And anyways, why haven’t they come to you? It’s not like you’re a subtle presence. If they wanted to be around you, they could be. </p><p> </p><p>(you wake up irritated)</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You’re ready this time. You’re in the house with the green walls and you’re packing a bag. You take water and rope and a little black book and a swiss army knife and a sweater. You’re a real explorer now, you might as well be wearing the hat. Maybe you are and it’s just out of sight. Yes, you do have a hat on. That’s good, there will be a lot of sun. This is the dream where it happens, you always knew that you would know right from the start, and right now you know it. God, it’s hot out in the sun. Your sweat beads comically, like you’re a cartoon. You squint and look up and there’s something moving through the sky but it’s too bright to make out. Maybe a seagull? There have been so many seagulls. You’re walking but you don’t seem to be going anywhere and my God is it hot. You’re walking and your feet sink into the sand and it shifts and falls under you and how are you supposed to get anywhere on this crumbling earth? You clamber up the dune as ferociously as you can, clawing at the ground for purchase. You don’t care about dignity but you could do without the sand under your fingernails. You can see the trees, it’s not even far, it’s not far at all, it’s just that these steps are too much work. How could anyone reasonably expect you to do all this work for just one step? This isn’t how it went in the movies. Why is the story betraying you? You stop to catch your breath, even though you don’t think you were breathing before. Behind you, you can see your house by the sea, way at the bottom of the dune. It looks miles away. You frown. That isn’t how it was. Was it a trick? It gives you resolve. Look how far you’ve gone. Just a few more awkward steps and you’ll be there. Just a few more awful, sandy steps and it will be over and you’ll have a new dream. </p><p> </p><p>You make it. You grab onto a tree trunk just in case they try and drift farther away. The bark feels so good under your hands, cool and ridged and full of patterns that run against the lines in your palms, it’s all puzzles, it’s all yours.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>What the fuck?</p><p>You whip around, it came from behind you. How long have you been here? There’s never anyone here. </p><p>She’s waving at you from a speedboat on the shore, its little engine spluttering away in the saltwater. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” </p><p>“I got your message.” She says it like it’s obvious, like it’s weird you asked. She points at the sand, where it still says HELP! in long, tall letters. </p><p>“Oh. Right, of course.” You frown. “What took you so long?”</p><p>She shrugs, “Got caught up. Are you coming or not?” </p><p>What a question. </p>
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